Vita Morteque Fratres
by nithila
Summary: They both had an obsession with defeating their older brothers, and they were both doomed to fail. But for very different reasons.


**I wrote half of this in bits and pieces in various school notebooks during my exams. Then I put it together. And then I didn't touch it for months. And today, I was working on a Code Geass fanfic, gave up, and finished this off instead.**

**It doesn't make much sense, but well. **

**And yes, the title is a bit of a misnomer.  
**

* * *

.

They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and Fuji has always intended to be a good older brother. But he is more than aware of the fact that he isn't.

Sometimes he stays awake, night after night, wondering where he's going wrong. What is it about him that irks Yuuta? Why exactly does he hate him so much?

The only reason he can think of, is inferiority. Insecurity, because Fuji is better than Yuuta at nearly everything. And that thought sounds so presumptuous, so _vain, _that he doesn't even want to think it.

When was the last time they spoke to each other freely, trusting each other? _Was_ there ever such a time?

He finds Yuuta's anger unfair sometimes. It isn't _his_ fault that he plays tennis better than his brother. It isn't _his _fault that he gets better grades. It isn't _his _fault that he can do anything twice as better as Yuuta – with half as much work. There isn't anything he can do about it.

But that's the problem. _He can't do anything about it_. He is, by birth, a terrible older brother.

* * *

.

Quitting the tennis team in high school, he thinks, might make things better. It doesn't. If anything, it makes things a whole lot worse.

"You quit for me, didn't you," Yuuta accuses flatly. There's no emotion in his voice, and it worries Fuji a bit.

"Of course not," he smiles, "I wanted to concentrate on photography. It's not your fault."

Yuuta gives him a look that tells him he doesn't believe him. They sit in an uncomfortable silence for a while.

"Play a match with me," he demands quietly. Fuji wants to decline. He knows this isn't a good idea.

He accepts, anyway.

He wins without trying. He can't help it. Despite having quit the team, tennis has become a part of him, and he can't forget it that easily.

He holds out a hand to his brother for a handshake. "Good match," he says slowly, cautiously.

Yuuta smirks at him, and the look in his eyes makes Fuji want to kill himself.

* * *

.

He watches Yuuta when he's asleep sometimes. He looks so peaceful, so innocent.

It makes him feel even guiltier.

* * *

.

"Perhaps I should cripple myself," Fuji muses out loud one day. He and Ryoma are stretched out on the grass, facing the sky.

Ryoma starts. "Sorry?"

Fuji twists his head around to look at him seriously. "Then I can't beat him anymore, right?"

Ryoma's face hardens. "No," he says flatly, "Then he'll just have to live with the fact that he could never beat you, and that it took you being gravely injured for him to be a better player. He wouldn't even have a way to prove himself wrong by beating you later on."

Fuji sighed. "Point taken."

They play another match one day. Fuji loses on purpose.

Unfortunately for him, Yuuta finds out, and '_The road to hell is paved with good intentions' _suddenly seems to make a lot more sense.

"I'm never playing against you again," Yuuta spits, eyes burning and fists clenched in fury, "-until you ask me to. Until _you _decide that I'm capable of beating you, and ask me for a match."

He turns and walks away, still clenching and unclenching his fists, like all he really wants to do is punch Fuji in the face.

Somehow, Fuji feels that this decision will make things even worse.

* * *

.

"I can't believe he noticed that I lost on purpose," Fuji says quietly. He and Ryoma are in their usual spot on the grass again.

Ryoma snorts. "Seriously, senpai? I bet it was fairly obvious. You never lose."

Fuji frowns. "He always fell for it when he was younger."

Ryoma is silent. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, and guarded. "My brother never let me win," he says. "He couldn't even bear the thought of me _believing_ that I was better than him."

Fuji looks at him suspiciously. "...You have a brother?"

Ryoma shrugs. "I used to. He's dead now."

Fuji sits up straight. "You never told me." It sounds accusing, but he doesn't mean for it to.

Ryoma shrugs again. "Never felt the need to."

They share a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Were you..." Fuji starts. He doesn't know how to phrase his question.

_Were you close?_

_Did you hate each other?_

_Were you ever like actual brothers?_

Ryoma smirks slightly. "Were we like you and Yuuta?" he asks, and lets out a small laugh at Fuji's expression. "No, senpai, we were a whole lot worse."

* * *

.

He goes to each of Yuuta's matches without fail. At every single one, his brother plays spectacularly. But Fuji sits in the sidelines feeling terrible, because he knows that, as much as his brother has improved, he could still beat him.

When Yuuta turns to face him, hopeful, eyes shining after the match, Fuji can see all the questions in his eyes.

_Will you ask me to play a match now? Am I good enough yet?_

Fuji shakes his head, feeling miserable, and the light in Yuuta's eyes disappears. His grip on his racket tightens, and a frown mars his face. As he leaves the court, Fuji sighs, and holds his face in his hands.

He knew this was a bad idea.

* * *

.

Months have passed since they last played. He only sees his brother at matches now. Yuuta seems to have permanently moved into the St. Rudolph dorms, and almost never visits home. When he does, he ensures it's when Fuji _isn't_ home.

On one occasion, Yumiko tries to trick Yuuta into coming home by telling him that Fuji's gone out. Yuuta falls for it. He enters the house, takes one look at Fuji's face, and tries to storm out again, but their mother is too fast for him. She drags him into the house by force, reprimanding him angrily.

Dinner that night is a tense affair. "How is school?" Fuji asks at last.

"It's fine," Yuuta says curtly, playing with his chopsticks. "It's good."

"We miss you," Fuji tries, with genuine warmth in his voice.

Yuuta frowns and turns away, conflicted. "I do, too," he says at last.

Yumiko smiles and offers him some rice, then smoothly changes the topic.

* * *

.

They're on the grass again, staring up at the stars. "How did you get over it?" Fuji asks.

Ryoma frowns. "Get over what?"

"Your obsession to defeat your brother."

Ryoma is silent for a long while, making Fuji regret his question. The tension around them seems to rise steadily.

Just when Fuji is about to say something funny, something casual, to pass the whole thing off as unimportant and shatter the tense atmosphere, Ryoma breaks out of his reverie.

"I don't think I ever did," he says, slowly, shakily, as if only considering it now himself. "I still do...want to beat him."

'_Even though he's dead?' _Fuji doesn't ask.

'_Even more since he's dead,' _Ryoma doesn't say.

* * *

.

Fuji goes to St. Rudolph the next day, and asks at the office for Fuji Yuuta. When Yuuta arrives, he seems wary. "What do you want, aniki?"

"Won't you come home today? I want to play a match with you."

Yuuta starts. "You mean...you think I could beat you?" He is doubtful, disbelieving.

Fuji frowns. "This has nothing to with that," he says, and ignores Yuuta's confused look. "I want to play you because you're my brother. I like playing against you."

Yuuta obviously hadn't expected Fuji to _go against _his decision of _We will not play until you think I can beat you_. Which was rather odd, Fuji decided, seeing as he'd been going against anything that could be gone against since the day he was born. Of all people, Yuuta should have known that best.

He watched his brother sign himself out of the hostel for the day, feeling satisfied for the first time in months.

* * *

.

"Did you love your brother?" Fuji asks, looking at the constellations. He identifies the Orion. Ursa Major. The Big Dipper. He's been pointing them out to Ryoma, who's already half asleep, his face half buried in the grass.

Ryoma blinks, once, twice. "Of course I did." He closes his eyes again, assuming the conversation closed.

"And he?" Fuji presses. "Did he love you?"

Ryoma sighs, nearly asleep now. "I think so," he says tiredly. "I hope so."

His breathing steadies as he gives in to his exhaustion, leaving Fuji to ponder at the constellations.

* * *

.

There is an unbearably loud silence on the court.

"That smash," Fuji manages to say at last. He and Yuuta are breathing hard, panting from opposite ends of the court. Fuji is still winning, despite only playing on occasion anymore, but...

_...that smash..._

It would take him long to learn to return it. It was fast, powerful, and took a route so _bizarre..._

Fuji smiles wide, genuine for once.

Never has he been so happy when presented with so tough an obstacle.

* * *

.

"You seem happy," Ryoma says suspiciously. As if him being happy is strange.

Fuji laughs softly. "Is that really so rare?"

"It is," Ryoma insists. "You usually just pretend to be."

"I played a match with Yuuta," Fuji tells him. "And I won."

Ryoma blinks confusedly. "And that is different from the rest of your life how?"

"He's developed this smash," Fuji says, excited. "It's so fast, so powerful, and almost impossible to follow..."

"And did you beat it?"

"No," Fuji says happily, "I didn't. I only won because I stopped hitting lobs, and gave him too few chances to use it."

Ryoma cracks a grin.

* * *

.

He plays Yuuta often now. It's always Fuji who asks for the matches, though. Yuuta hasn't asked once.

It takes months for Fuji to return the smash. He's almost afraid of the consequences, but Yuuta takes it well. "Congratulations, aniki," he says, grinning. "It took you long enough."

_Long enough, _Fuji thinks wryly. _Long enough to change everything?_

* * *

.

"Is he still obsessed with defeating you?" Ryoma asks. Fuji is testing him on the constellations today, and he desperately wants to change the subject.

"Of course," Fuji replies. "I doubt he'll ever grow out of it. He just isn't as upset over it anymore."

Ryoma seems doubtful. "Are you sure about that?"

Fuji pauses, lowering his hand from where he'd been pointing. "Not always," he admits. "He isn't that depressed anymore, but it still affects him sometimes. Sometimes, he avoids tennis, and he's reluctant to come home on weekends, but..." He sighs. "I don't think he blames me anymore. And he always gets over it in a few days."

Ryoma smiles almost wistfully. "I can relate."

Fuji glances at him carefully. Ryoma doesn't seem upset, but slightly...nostalgic. He decides to take a chance. "What do you do now?" he asks cautiously. "When you want to beat your brother...what do you do?"

Ryoma's smile disappears immediately, expression hardening. "What is there to do?" He asks tersely.

Fuji ignores all warning signals to shut up. "Don't you wonder," he continues. "whether you could beat him now?"

"I know I can't," Ryoma says stiffly, before standing up to leave. "I know I never can."

He turns on his heel and walks away. Fuji almost misses his last words.

"_He made that pretty clear before he died."_

* * *

.

Years pass, and Yuuta doesn't get over it. But he does get better at dealing with it.

And year after year, Fuji keeps winning. He still plays tennis better than his brother. He still gets better grades. He can still do anything twice as better as Yuuta – with half as much work.

There isn't anything he can do about it.

_(Besides show his brother that he loves him.) _


End file.
